Best Gay Erotica 2003, page 17
“You can’t get away with this!”
“Of course I can. It’s your own fault, you know,” he said regretfully. “I gave you everything. All any of you had to do was stay. But I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with what I can keep.” He sighed as he caressed my flaccid dick.
Fear turned my guts to water. Spread-eagled, naked, bound, I was vulnerable to anything the little monster wanted to do to me. He tried to rouse my shriveled cock. “Take your hands off me, you sick bastard!” I called him every name I could think of.
Finally, he gave up. “OK, we’ll do it the hard way.” He picked up a hypodermic needle filled with a blood-red fluid. “You must be fully erect for the preservation process to work.” I swore. “You’re starting to repeat yourself.” He stuffed a handkerchief in my mouth, then injected the fluid into the root of my cock.
I tried to scream, but no sound came out. In jerks and starts, my cock stiffened. I tried to will the erection away, but it was as if my dick belonged to someone else. Desire built. My own body betrayed me.
“Magnificent!” he said as he stroked my engorged organ. I’d never have thought it was possible to be horny and terrified at the same time. Waves of pleasure and terror enveloped me as he worked on my cock. I thrust my hips at him, hating him, but wanting his touch—any touch—on my throbbing dick.
My mind screamed at me to find a way out, but it’s hard to think when your balls are aching to come. I tried not to listen as he explained exactly what he was going to do. He told me about each of his trophies. He was as proud of them as if they were his own. I guess they were—they weren’t doing much for the original owners.
Maybe I could distract him, keep him talking so that he’d forget an appointment and someone would come looking for him. But who would miss Gordy? Maybe the cab driver would be so annoyed when I didn’t come out that he’d come barging inside. Yeah, right. Gordy had probably just canceled it. Maybe if he thought I still wanted him…he’d change his mind? OK, it was a stupid plan, but it was the only one I had. I arched my back and pushed my cock into his hand. I wriggled my hips. I leered at him. I tightened every muscle to emphasize my definition. I felt like a slut.
“Oh, yeah. You want it, don’t you? Me, too.” He leaned in and swallowed my balls. I groaned and squirmed in shameless ecstasy as his greedy little mouth tugged at me. He pulled off and grinned. Drool rolled down his chin. “I can’t let you come, I’m afraid. It would spoil the process.”
He pulled my sac down and twisted it, locking my juice inside my screaming balls. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t even notice the pain. And then I’ll have you forever.”
He took his time, slowly licking every inch of my cock. Every tiny lap, every flicker of his tongue caused an agony of pleasure. When his lips locked around my crown and his tongue probed my slit, I bucked wildly, wanting to escape and yet wanting to prolong the exquisite torment. He sucked so hard I thought he’d tear it out by the roots. Despair swept over me as I remembered that was exactly what he intended to do. My balls were a knot of pain. I’d never wanted to come so badly in my life.
Just when I thought I couldn’t bear any more, I heard a shout. I looked up to see Wade charging through the door. I thought I was delirious, but he was really there. He yanked Gordy off me.
“No! You have to let me finish!”
“You are finished, you bastard.” In seconds, a cringing Gordy dangled from Wade’s grip. Wade shoved him roughly against the wall and cuffed him. I’d never seen Wade so angry. His eyes sizzled.
“You’re ruining everything. I have to do it while he’s at his peak.”
Wade’s jaw tightened and he clenched his fist, but he settled for shoving him onto the floor. Gordy cowered and rolled into a ball. “Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.” Wade ignored him.
“Are you all right, Dallas?” he asked as he untied me and removed the gag. “God, look at you! Your balls are purple.” “No, don’t!” I said as he reached down to examine me. At the first touch, my dick exploded, firing white volleys of cum all over his face. I screamed and gasped and shook. Even after they were drained, my balls jerked and pumped.
Wade stroked my belly and thighs until I was done. Exhausted, I lay back, trembling. “I never saw anything like that in my life,” Wade said in awe. “What did he do to you?” I struggled to answer. “Some kind of drugs. Oh god, Wade, he was going to….” I couldn’t help it; I started to cry.
“I know, baby. It’s OK now. You’re safe.” Wade cradled me in his big arms. I’d wanted that for so long, I cried even harder.
“If you hadn’t come…what are you doing here? How did you know?”
“I came to apologize. I was pretty rough on you last night. When I checked the garage to see if you were alone, I spotted the Harley. The guy that disappeared had a Harley. The bastard was crazy to keep it.”
“He liked trophies.” I pointed at the wall. “He told me all about them. The little one was his dad’s. He caught Gordy with the biker’s body, so Gordy killed him, too. He thought it was really funny that his big, macho father only had a three-inch cock.”
Wade looked at the wall and turned white. He hugged me hard. “I should never have let you walk out of that bar.”
“You should never have let me run away at all.”
“You had to get it out of your system. When you didn’t look me up after you came back, I was sure it was over. Then I saw the way you looked at me when you first saw me last night. And like a damned fool, I wouldn’t admit how much I still thought about you.”
“You made me so mad, but you were right. I was packing to leave, and he found out. I couldn’t stand the thought of letting him touch me again. I was a damned fool to ever leave you.”
“I won’t argue with that.” Wade flashed me his crooked grin, then kissed me. I didn’t think I had anything left, but my cock shot straight up.
“It would be criminal neglect to ignore this,” he said as he gently stroked my rod.
“Uh, speaking of criminals, where’s Gordy?”
“Oh, shit!” Wade looked wildly around the room. “I haven’t even read the bastard his rights. I’ll be right back. He can’t have gotten far.”
“But what about….” I looked down at my freshly engorged cock.
“Hands off, mister! That’s police evidence.”
“Anything you say, Officer!”
Death Becomes Me
Dean Durber
“Come look!”
My train was leaving from Grand Central Station in less than an hour. Back to Boston and the start of a miserable journey home. I anticipated that the long flight across the Atlantic would have to offer more excitement than what had avoided me during the previous two weeks. I thought about the buildup and the waste of money and the shrieks of envy from friends. I had nothing to take home and tell. Only a few scant photos of this tall building and that tall statue. And perhaps now a new Walkman that I had decided to buy.
At first I had convinced myself that this was the real and only reason for coming to New York. The shopping was great. It was cheap and I needed this latest boytoy contraption, out of necessity. I later accepted that I really wanted it out of sheer depression. How could this have happened to me? I had been in the city that never sleeps, had hardly slept, and still I hadn’t managed to get laid. Fucking drag queens, leather boys, hairy chests, and waxed legs in minis. I’m not saying these bodies aren’t needed in this world, but they just don’t do it for me. I’m more of a man-on-the-street kind of guy. Looking for the boy next door. Except the boys I want would never dream of living any fucking where near next door to me.
“He’s gonna do it!”
The shop boy who had been faking an interest in me, my job, my country—and all because of my expressed intention to purchase—was now ditching me to join a crowd that had gathered on the street outside. People were staring up at some obscure point in the sky. I thought it was one of those jokes. This was how New Yorkers got their kicks. They plot together and take the piss out of naïve and ignorant tourists. They offer us everything and then give us nothing. I checked for hidden cameras and was suddenly shocked to see that they weren’t all that well hidden. They weren’t fucking hidden at all. In the land of the free I saw that surveillance was everywhere. So I obediently joined in and looked up with the crowd. It took me a while to follow the line of the boy’s pointing finger before I could see it. But then I got it. One open window, and the tiniest speck of a man with his legs dangling down the outside of the Empire State Building. I heard the sound of fire engines racing toward us down 5th Avenue. My own despair disappeared while I joined the crowd in prayer that someone would get there in time to stop him or catch him or….
“Yep, he’s going.”
It occurred to me that my shop boy was no ordinary onlooker. Here was a poor, lonely man sitting on a windowsill on the verge of taking his own life. What desperation had driven him to it? How long had it been going through his mind? And all the boy could do was to nudge me and smile.
“Cool, hey?”
It was all a big joke to him. I found myself smiling back.
It was a warm day. The boy was wearing a sleeveless singlet so I managed to get a good glimpse of the dark patches of hair that jutted from the crevices of his armpits. I kept looking at them as he pointed out the speck in the sky to more and more people who joined us. He was about my height. Boys my height are a disappearing rarity in a world that seems to be stretching up higher and higher every day. Everything I had wanted in this city had proven to be way beyond my reach. I had decided that too many New Yorkers live with their heads in the clouds.
The man plummeted to earth with a splat.
“Well, that’s that, then!”
Perhaps for a boy from New York this was an everyday thing. For me it was one more hideous vacation memory to add to a long list of failures. I suddenly believed that the plane home would crash and I would finish my life lying on the bottom of the ocean. It would be the perfect ending to my miserable vacation. Perhaps it was all for the best. It would create a better story for the friends back home who could make up their own fantasies about the time of my life that I had. I wouldn’t have to ruin it by telling them the truth. I wouldn’t have to lie.
“So, you wanna come back inside and have a look at what I got?”
I was still staring at the spot where it had all started. I had watched every inch of that tiny speck as it had fallen. I had seen it splatter. I had a boner so big it was sickening.
“First time, hey?”
“To New York? No. I’ve been here once before.”
Perhaps that was it. I had done it all. There was nothing left in life for me to enjoy.
“No, I mean, the suicide watching.”
“Oh, yes.”
The boy smiled and showed me his bright white teeth surrounded by his dark brown skin. Italian perhaps. Maybe Spanish. I couldn’t tell. What did I care? This was the big melting pot of human culture.
“Makes you quite excited to watch it, hey?”
“Hey!”
He started showing me his range of Walkmans again but I don’t remember anything of what he said. I knew that he knew I had been excited by what I had witnessed. I could see the way he kept noticing the thick line of flesh that veered off toward my left thigh. He never fixed his eyes on it for long, but they kept coming back.
“Have you ever thought of doing it?”
It wasn’t the sort of question to ask a stranger. You don’t just come out with it and ask people if they have ever thought of ending it. It was out of place.
“Getting that close to death? Stroking the hand of God?” I asked in response. “Sure, I have.”
My thoughts were nothing to do with jumping from a skyscraper’s window. That’s not how I imagine death for me. I’d imagined it differently…like the placing of a pillow over my face with a firm hand on top, pressing down so hard that I can hardly breathe while a man jerks me to orgasm. Only at the last possible moment, only when the cum is right at the tip of my cock, only when I have less than a second of life left in me and I am crawling and clawing for breath to save myself from dying, only then is the pressure released, the pillow removed, the flow allowed to spring forth.
“Aaaaaagh!”
The boy grabbed hold of my throat with his bare hand and pulled me backward. He dragged me toward the back of the shop.
I could have tried to struggle. I did for a second but then he squeezed even more tightly on my Adam’s apple until I thought it would burst. Normally I hate it even when people try to lick me there. I even have a fear of shaving. I can’t stand putting a razor blade within an inch. The thought of someone biting into it or of my own hand slipping and cutting—it’s always been too much for me to handle. But I let him do it. I decided there and then that maybe it was time for me to get over my reliance on vanilla. If I were to survive this trip, I needed a real New York–style story to take home and tell. I had to face my fears.
Draining my breath, he forced my face to meet his stare and dived to explore my mouth with the roughness of his tongue. The harsh stubble of his face ripped my softer skin. It would be sore for days. I could already feel the dead layers of skin flaking off. People would think I was just one more white boy caught out by the sun. Another tourist with no brains. He kicked my legs open and forced my head down. My friends would see it all differently. They would admire the scars, and then me. I had been to the place everyone spoke of and I had been more than just another passing face in the crowd. In a city that promises so much, I had been its center. I had lived it. I wasn’t like the hundreds of faces that stampeded up and down the street outside, staring in through the large glass windows and walking on, oblivious to the sight of me on all fours. My head had been pulled back so far that all I could see was the ceiling. I could see cracks forming in the paintwork. I could feel his huge brown cock ramming its full force up my hot, steaming arse.
The roots of my hair screamed out as he wrenched on a tuft at the front that I had gelled so neatly into place that morning. He yanked my head back further as he slammed away from behind.
“Wanna die today, motherfucker?”
I thought of responding and asking if he could possibly give me more pleasure to accompany my death, but I found that I just couldn’t speak.
“Can you picture him falling? Did you get off on that? Falling all the way down, head first and twisting, smacking off the side of the building as he goes, can’t be long now until he’s on the ground, with a splat, dead, fucked, smashed, smashed to fucking shit, brains all over the place, oh fuck, oh jesus fuck….”
I listened to the silence. I waited until I heard him come with a huge gasp of air as if he’d been holding back for breath, and then I realized that I too needed to breathe. My eyes were ready to pop. My face was burning red. This boy had fucked me to the brink of insanity. He’d taken me and himself one step closer to that ecstasy of death. And when he finally agreed to remove his hand from my mouth, just before it went too far, I let out a gasping scream and collapsed onto the cold tiled floor. The Walkman I had been clutching fell from my hand. It slid through the open door and out onto the street where it was instantly crushed underfoot. Cool air rushed up inside my arse.
I paid for the Walkman and left. Outside, standing on tiny scraps of plastic, I looked up at the colossal height of the Empire State Building. I thought about taking one more trip to the top. An elevator ride to the tourist observatory desk on the 86th floor. Maybe there I would find an open window. I checked my watch. My train was leaving in fifteen minutes.
The Bachelors
Douglas A. Martin
1. A Good Neighborhood
There were the men who’d just gotten off the train, men I’d think later I should have followed, men I hoped would come back, show me if they might want me, and then follow me off this train, at my stop.
I take the F to Bergen.
Some say they don’t usually do this, follow guys off the train, talk to guys like this, give guys their phone numbers, unlike the ones who must wander around there all day, around the stations, from one to another, ones I would sometimes begin following, next door to hotels, ones who seemed to have only me as a standard, ones who stand under their newspapers, smiling even in the rain, on the street out toward the ends of my neighborhood.
There are friends I run into, and MTA workers, on occasion, out here like this, where men pretend to be asking for change for the subway, or one pretends he has hurt his foot, and another walks over to the pay phone, making a gesture with his mouth I can’t mistake for anything else.
I follow one of these men into a bar.
Another asks politely if he can walk with me. Although I know I’ve somehow started all of this, I sometimes still say no. I know he might lose interest, but if he really wanted me, he’d follow me.
There are ones I lose, and then there’s one I follow for blocks and blocks, even out toward the underpass, where he finally, unexpectedly, runs into friends. There would be another one like him, another night. I’d follow him all the way out toward the other highway, past the police cruisers, the local neighborhood station, the garbage men on their rounds, late at night, just doing their jobs.
He’s been painting his apartment all day. It’s an excuse I’d use to change my mind, to get away, once I didn’t really want this anymore, after having had a little time to think, coming to my senses coming up the stairs, watching him walk up in front of me.
Maybe some other time. I think I might be allergic to the paint. Thanks, anyway.
I go back out into the night.
Another one of them finds me, takes me up the street, takes me up the stairs to his place. He doesn’t have roommates, or his roommates are away. He takes me in and wants to know if I want to watch a tape, if I want to piss on him. I haven’t done this, ever. He says I can do whatever I want, whatever. He wants to finish me off, says I have a good dick, spitting up behind me, on me, bending over the couch I don’t lower my face into, before he begins to move in his tongue, just a bit, just a bit more.
